


Damn those jeans

by Ellstra



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Gen, Social Anxiety, Unreliable Narrator, short story by cath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellstra/pseuds/Ellstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative to what Cath actually turned in for the "Untrustworthy narrator" task, based on her own experience.</p>
<p>
  <i>“We also have the jeans here but I wanted to ask whether you had them in a shortened version?” she asks. Just like that. As if it wasn’t a problem at all. As if it was just as easy as breathing. If it was like breathing, I had to have the worst case of asthma known to man.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn those jeans

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't entirely sure what "Untrustworthy narrator" means so I did some research. I hope it's the same thing as unreliable narrator. Apparently, an unreliable narrator is someone who tells a story but you can't believe them hundred percent because they're either making it up or don't see the situation as it is (= people with mental illness.) I figured social anxiety counts.

There are times when I wish I didn’t spend all the time with my twin sister.

A twin sister is an amazing confidant and friend and you don’t need any effort to make her listen to you because it’s her birth right and duty. Having a twin sister comes in handy when you suffer from social anxiety or just really suck at human interaction. I however still haven’t made my mind about whether it is an advantage to have a socially capable twin sister or a disaster.

Getting her to do chores that seem mundane to her and freak me out is great. Having slumber parties without people who don’t belong in my room is awesome. Tagging along on her shopping spree… not so much.

“These would look great on you!” She exclaims and pulls a hanger with a pair of extremely skinny-fitted and uncomfortable-looking jeans. I refrain from sighing or rolling my eyes.

“No. They’d look great on you.” I say and keep browsing through the few scared sweaters in the back of the shop. I get it, it’s summer sale but that’s no reason to wear illogically tight _and_ see-through clothes. Tank tops that won’t allow your brain to do anything but wonder whether people are staring at you because of the giant book you’re reading or because they’re trying to figure out where you bought that awesome bra. Shorts so tiny you won’t be able to sit down anywhere if you don’t want to get stuck to it. Summer sucks.

“We’re identical twins.” Leia deadpans. She obviously thinks she got me. And she’s wrong because I’ve thought this through before. About a million times.

“Yeah. But you’re the one who can wear tight jeans without going to the bathroom to check yourself every two minutes.” I tell her the answer I came up with a couple of days ago after she tried to make me wear her miniskirt. I never think of the right answer at the moment when it’s needed. But I make up ingenious remarks several minutes after that and I always wallow in how clever I am when I – in fact – am not. At least not when it’s relevant anyway.

“Shut up,” she puts the jeans into my hands and I catch them out of reflex. “See? They want you.”

They want my money _,_ I think but I don’t say it out loud. It’s no use with Leia. She has an incredible talent of ignoring logic when she decides to.

“You’ve got to try them on,” she goes on and pulls another pair out of the pile. “These are one size bigger, I’m not sure which we have here.” She slams it into my hands too and goes on looking for the best piece for her new _back to school_ outfit. I don’t understand the concept of _back to school_ outfits, but apparently it is a thing – Leia and all the shops we’ve been to today say so.

“They’re the normal length,” I point out and try not to sound too happy. We’re too short to wear normal length, which leaves us with three options – no jeans, (usually) pointless search for the shortened version or taking them to someone who can fix them.

“Try the fit and we’ll ask the assistant to look for short ones later,” she always has an answer. And she’s always so wrong.

“Can’t we just look for them now? If they don’t have them here, I don’t have to bother trying them on.” I plead even though I’m sure it’s no use.

“They might have them stored somewhere. Come on,” she drags me to the fitting rooms with her. I immediately take the one in the corner because hey, I’m already suffering enough.

The jeans don’t look bad at me. I have to admit that. If I wear some long and slightly baggy shirt with them, they’re going to look rad. They have a really nice colour and my legs don’t look bad in them. Well, at least the part down to my ankles doesn’t anyway. The additional fifteen centimetres that cover my feet are just ridiculous. Who’s even this tall? Who’s tall enough to need the longer sizes?

“So?” Leia calls at me from the next stall. God, does the entire shop have to know we’re here?

“They’re okay, I guess,” I mumble. Leia’s pulling the portiere away in a split second and her head appears in the mirror in front of me.

“Told ya,” she grins and disappears. I take the pants off and get dressed in my own clothes. I pick up all the things I have with me, double-check whether I have the size I want in the left hand and the one I want to give back in the right. Upon exiting the fitting room, I notice a lady sorting through the hanger with clothes people tried on and decided not to buy. In a sudden rush of confidence I make a beeline for her.

“Could you save this for me on the cash desk?” I ask her politely, praising myself for such a good job on being a functional human. I didn’t even stutter.

“I don’t work here,” she replies with a smile.

“Oh,” SHIT _. This_ is why I don’t talk to people _. This_ is why it’s easier to do everything by myself even though it’s usually inconvenient. I’m going to be scarred by this for at least a week _._ Jesus. Fucking. Christ _._ “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugs it off. I wish I could do that too. My pulse is probably at the value for a hard physical exertion. Like running a mile in a sprint speed. The lady has a lenient smile upon her face. She probably thinks I’m stupid. Or crazy. Or weird. She looks like a normal female individual and she has a boyfriend whom I’ve just noticed.

I flee as soon as my blood pressure decreases a little so that my limbs are usable again. I pull away the curtain hiding Leia and I stick my head there hoping the lady will have gone already when I emerge again. _I’m such a loser. God._

“Could you get me this one in L?” Leia hands me a red shirt. I just nod and take it from her.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“On the left side, just behind the cash desk.”

“’kay.” I mumble.

She didn’t notice what a mess I am. Is that good or bad? Do I look okay or didn’t she spare me a glance and I do look awful?

I let out a sigh of relief when I notice the lady hid in the stall with her boyfriend. Maybe to tell him what a goof she had just encountered. I hang the wrong pair of jeans on the hanger with unwanted clothes and leave the fitting area quickly.

“I’m taking this,” I tell the cashier – I’m pretty sure it _is_ a cashier this time – and hand her the right pair of jeans.

“And the shirt?” she asks. My brain freezes. Shirt? What shirt? Did someone look like me who left a shirt here and now she thinks it was me? Did her colleague take a shirt from somewhere and leave it at the cash desk and she thinks it’s mine?

“Umm, err-“ I stutter incoherently. I begin to tremble. My chest tightens. Great job, you’re on the best way to break down in public. Awesome _._ “That’s not mine. Umm. Just… just the pants.”

I literally run away to avoid seeing her expression. She’s probably thinking I’m a half-wit or something. I’m not. I’m smart. I am.

Only after I search the shop for the shirt for Leia do I realise what the cashier meant. Oh god. I really am a half-wit. I was holding a shirt in hands and telling her the shirt wasn’t mine. Technically it’s not but… Oh god. I finally see what I was looking for and stick the shirt on the hanger and pull out the size Leia wanted. I can feel the cashier staring at me. I can hear her thoughts. _A stupid high school girl,_ she thinks, _she doesn’t even know what a shirt is. She’s so pathetic_. I stare at the ground when I run towards the fitting rooms.

“Where were you?” Leia asks when I finally hand her the shirt. Miss Functional human being was still in her boyfriend’s stall when I made the way for Leia’s _._ Are they making out in the next room?

“Looking for the shirt,” I explain. What did she think I was doing? I had to find it.

“Why didn’t you ask the cashier to find it for you?” Leia asks as she pulls the top over her head.

“Didn’t want to bother her,” I mumble as I remember my catastrophic encounter with the shop assistant.

“It’s her job,” Leia points out. I don’t have any answer to that so I keep my mouth shut, trying to find the ground under my feet again. Inhale, exhale.

Leia decides not to take the shirt I brought her but to take another one. She gets dressed, picks up her bag and we leave together.

“Where are the jeans?” she asks in confusion.

“I gave them to the cashier,” I reply. I stay silent about the rest of the conversation.

“Did you ask her whether they had the shorter ones?” she asks. Shit. No. NO. I had one job. God, how could I forget that?

“No.”

“Jesus, Lucy,” she sighs and she walks to the cash desk.

“I won’t ask. I’m sure they don’t have them.” I say before she can do anything. She just rolls her eyes. We come to the cashiers. Leia sets her top on the counter.

“We also have the jeans here but I wanted to ask whether you had them in a shortened version?” she asks. Just like that. As if it wasn’t a problem at all. As if it was just as easy as breathing. If it was like breathing, I had to have the worst case of asthma known to man.

“I’ll take a look.” The assistant looks at me weirdly. I try to look nonchalant but I don’t think I’m pulling it off too successfully with my burning cheeks. I’m pretty sure my heartbeat can be heard in the whole store. Maybe they’ll use me for an advertisement. _Your heart will beat faster when you see our sales._

“I’m sorry, they only come in normal and longer fits.” The cashier interrupts my reflecting on whether it would look better in black script on a white background or vice versa.

“We’ll take these then,” Leia says and pulls out her purse. Dad always gives us money together and I let her hold the purse strings because it means less stress. No fumbling with the zip, no awkward searching for the change, no embarrassing overhearing of the price and giving too little money, no inability to put the change inside.

Leia is as graceful when paying as she is with everything. Why does coins fallen to the ground only happen to us idiots? I grab the bag and intend to pull it down from the counter when the assistant stops me.

“The receipt,” she smiles and puts the paper inside.

“Thanks,” Leia says. I pull the bag off the counter and turn to leave. “Bye.”

“Bye.” I call over my shoulder. I may be an idiot but I’m not rude. At least not intentionally.

“I told you they’d look awesome on you. Now we just have to find someone to shorten them for you,” Leia is obviously having a great time.

“Yeah.” I muse.

Damn those jeans.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Funny fact: This was based on what actually happened to me. Social anxiety is a bitch.


End file.
